


blood just never comes out, does it?

by imaginaryinspiration



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood, Bullying, Fist Fights, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Language, Misgendering, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fic, Racism, Slurs, r-word and f-word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginaryinspiration/pseuds/imaginaryinspiration
Summary: Frisk scrubbed and scrubbed at their favorite sweater but it just wouldn’t come out. Crusty dark red-brown marred the once bright but faded blue and pink fleece. What had they done? What had Chara done? They scrubbed it even harder, willing the blood to come out before Mom came home. She couldn’t see this! Couldn’t know that Frisk (really, it was Chara) had hurt someone. Ignoring the pain of the nasty bruises they had all over their chest and the busted lip that had bled, Frisk regretted their decision to hand over control. But--! They were just so--!And, they did. Frisk let Chara take control. Oh, how they regretted it now, but they couldn’t go back, they couldn’t turn back time for something as insignificant (it didn’t feel that way right now) as a playground fight. Sans would know, and they’d promised him they wouldn’t go back unless something terrible happened. And by god, they would try with everything they’ve got to keep it. They couldn’t break his trust now. Not after a hundred run-throughs and a hundred betrayals. They wouldn’t make him go through that again.
Relationships: Chara & Frisk (Undertale), Frisk & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	blood just never comes out, does it?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mother and Child](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172293) by [V_mum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum). 



> This was a prompt I did in one hour: "the stain would not come out". So, here!

It wouldn’t come out. It  _ wouldn’t _ come out. 

Frisk scrubbed and scrubbed at their favorite sweater but it just wouldn’t come out. Crusty dark red-brown marred the once bright but faded blue and pink fleece. What had they  _ done?  _ What had Chara done? They scrubbed it even harder, willing the blood to come out before Mom came home. She couldn’t see this! Couldn’t know that Frisk (really, it was Chara) had hurt someone. Ignoring the pain of the nasty bruises they had all over their chest and the busted lip that had bled, Frisk regretted their decision to hand over control. But--! They were just so--!

Chara  _ hated  _ Justin. Frisk, if Frisk could hate anyone, also hated Justin. The little white boy with his freckles and smug little smile made their blood boil. Every single day, he mocked and mocked Frisk while they stood to the side and tried to ignore the words he spat vehemently at them. They stayed the pacifist and passive child they’d always been, always  _ had to be,  _ as he and the other kids jarred and laughed. He insulted their family, insulted their friends, insulted the  _ monsters!  _ Frisk was fine when it was just about them “Why aren’t you a boy or a girl? Maybe you’re just an  _ it!”  _ or “No wonder your human family didn’t want you! I wouldn’t either! Only some genderless  _ freak  _ would have to live with some monster family!”

When Frisk looked away, trying so hard to keep their breath controlled and their fists from clenching too tight, they would mock them even more. “Oh, are you gonna cry? Hey, look,  _ it  _ wants to go run to  _ its  _ freak of nature mommy! How pa _ thetic.” _

Frisk was so used to it by now that is barely seemed to phase them anymore. And anyways, they’d been hiding it for too long for it to be any use to tell anyone now. Not when they’d ask why it took so long. And Frisk, more than anything, did  _ not  _ want Sans getting involved. Of course, they knew he’d get angry and violent and want to give those kids a bad time. And Frisk knew even better that they did not want monsters to backtrack and lose all their new social rights because a monster used magic to brutally murder some 12-year-olds. It wasn’t  _ worth it.  _ It didn’t matter. It  _ didn’t. _

This time was different though. This time, Frisk didn’t stay passive. They tried so hard to not let it get to them, but when they called Undyne and Alphys  _ fags,  _ when they called Papyrus  _ reta--! _

They’d snapped. Chara had been raging in the back of their mind for a while, (even though Chara knew that it wasn’t worth it to get mad at these kids. Didn’t change that they were a violent sixth grader with anger problems and no parental guidance.) yelling “Do something, Frisk! Don’t let them say that! I  _ told you all humans were bad _ ! Do something! Let me take control! Let me handle this!  _ Let me, Frisk!!! _ ”

And, they did. Frisk let Chara take control. Oh, how they regretted it now, but they couldn’t go back, they couldn’t turn back time for something as insignificant (it didn’t feel that way right now) as a playground fight. Sans would _know,_ and they’d promised him they wouldn’t go back unless something terrible happened. And by god, they would try  _ with everything they’ve got _ to keep it. They couldn’t break his trust now. Not after a hundred run-throughs and a hundred betrayals. They wouldn’t make him go through that again.

When Frisk slipped their hold ever so slightly and took a backseat, Chara growled with rage. Justin and the others had recoiled in disgust. “Oh, look! It  _ can  _ make noises. What a surprise!” And then. And then---!

Before Justin could even blink or take another breath, Chara was at his throat. Hands gripping so tight their knuckles turned white, they snarled “Say that again, bitch?!”

Justin was scared, but somehow he was stupid enough to smile again and say “So  _ she’s _ got some fighting spirit in  _ her _ , huh?” Frisk recoiled in the back of their shared headspace.  _ She???!  _ Even  _ it  _ was better than  _ she.  _ So Chara grimaced and bared their teeth even further before pulling a fist back so hard Frisk thought they would dislocate their shoulder before punching him so hard they thought that had to have been a broken jaw on impact. 

Apparently that was enough to rouse the other children from whatever trance they were in to charge in to help Justin. It was 3 against one, but they were no match for Chara. One managed to land a punch right into Frisk’s ribs, and that hurt, but not nearly as much as Chara wanted to hurt these three. What these children didn’t know was that Chara had literally singlehandedly murdered an entire population of monsters in one run and Frisk could dodge better than anyone. (Certainly helped them in the Underground, but they’d developed that skill much earlier when they still lived with their mother.) So Chara beat all of them, landing more hits than the three opposing children combined, while Frisk dodged most of the hits. 

Except for when Justin came and clocked them so hard in the mouth that they could immediately taste blood. Ouch. Chara retaliated with a nasty roundhouse to his nose, and  _ that  _ was a trip straight to the hospital. And probably plastic surgery. To reconstruct whatever was left of his now profusely bleeding nose. And Justin and then other kids pounced on Frisk, his blood getting all over their sweater.

They were quick to get up, and with how angry and malicious Chara looked (enough to cow even the fiercest of wrestlers) the children were suddenly hightailing it out of there.

All of this had happened without any adult eyes on them. As Chara receded, Frisk knew it would stay that way. They had run home and now here they were, trying to get Justin’s blood out of their sweater. It  _ wouldn’t  _ come out.

They heard a deep voice and the rattle of bones walking on the wooden floors of the dining room. Ah, Sans was here. Frick. Worst timing ever. They were soaked in water, lip still bleeding, bloodstain still strikingly apparent on their sweater. Frisk hurriedly locked the bathroom door and tried to keep as silent as possible.

The bloodstain kept sticking in their mind. Stains were so hard to get out. Especially blood. And this particular bloodstain, on this particular sweater, was painfully familiar and similar to that other time. Before. Before the Fall. When their mother had--!

They could stil hear the clash of the bottles, the sprinkling of glass cutting their skin as it exploded on the wall next to them. Their mother, yelling, so so loud, and angry. And so foul-smelling. She smelled like the bottles. There was so much shattered glass all over the floor. Frisk, young and naive, had tried to please their mother, cleaning up the mess. Back when they still thought she  _ could  _ be pleased.

They learned that day to not clean up broken glass with their hands. They’d grabbed a big handful, slicing their fingers and wincing. And then there was so much blood! So much blood! Red and leaking out of their hands, dripping on the floor, making more of a mess. They’d tried to wipe it off on their sweater, their hands were so slippery!

That bloodstain, in the same place now as it was before, had been just as hard to get out. They’d done it eventually.

But some stains never came out. Some stains, spilled blood pouring over their mind, marring and coloring it crimson, sunk in. And when blood sits too long, it stains. They’d let the memories sit for far too long now for them to ever come out. Bloodstains on their psyche. Drip, “I hate you!” Drip, “You little bi--!” Drop, “I wish I never had you.” Drop, “You say that one more time, and I’ll--!”

Drip, drop, drip, drop, until the blood pooled, and sank in, and dried. Sat there, never cleaned up. Maybe glanced at every day, ignored (even though seeing it made it impossible to ignore it), but never dealt with. And here were the consequences. More blood, real blood. Justin’s blood.

A heavy sob (when did they start crying?!) made too much noise and alerted him to their presence. The knock on the door, hollow sound of bones against wood. Drip, drop, the water dripped onto the floor from their still sopping wet sweater. “kid? you in there?”

Drip, drop, their lip dripped crimson onto the counter. “can i come in? i’m coming in.”

Drip, drop, their tears onto the floor. They looked up to see a very worried skeleton (damn, how could they forget he could teleport?), eyelights so small and perpetually large grin turning into a grimace. “frisk, are you alright? what happened? and why are you-- why are you  _ bleeding?” _

They looked up at him without a word. “who did this?”

He assumed _who_ quickly. Damn. They couldn’t really explain this, huh? Chara took over without request and tried to explain. “Kids at school! They’re so-- so mean! I’m so so sorry, I tried to be so calm, I always am! But, but, but-- but they were calling Mom a-- and Papyrus a ret-- and Alphys and Undyne-- and you-- and, and--!”

He’d heard enough, somehow. Words unspoken weren’t really an issue with the frighteningly perceptive skeleton. “they  _ w h a t.” _

That tone made them look up, sharply, reminding them too much of when they’d fought when--

“woah, woah, i’m not mad at you kid, i--! you’re fine, you’re fine! i-- it doesn’t matter what they said. i don’t care if you fought, but they hurt you! i-- hey, hey, how about we get that lip patched up and a change of clothes, okay? we can talk about what happened later.”

“Later?”

“later.”

  
For now, he just hugged them. Really, really tightly. And Frisk thought, maybe, maybe, that bloodstain on their mind might come out a little easier. Just a little easier. But they could-- eventually--  _ later--  _ they could get it completely out, with time. It started with just a little stain remover. Just a little love.


End file.
